


Case 158: The Adventure Of The Olympian Quest (1899)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [204]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Clothing Kink, Destiel - Freeform, Disguise, Exhaustion, F/M, Gay Sex, Hypnotism, Johnlock - Freeform, London, M/M, Quests, Theft, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-20 10:45:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17621003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: ֍ Sherlock is asked to steal something from one of the most secretive private gentlemen's clubs in London. Of course he rises to the challenge while John rises... yup, still that sort of story.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jaid_diah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaid_diah/gifts).



_[Narration by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Esquire]_

I remember the exact date that this story began as it was the day after Twelfth Night, at the start of 'Ninety-Nine. It was also two weeks after our memorable return from the North Riding of Yorkshire, and John had still been moving gingerly when he had taken down our decorations the day before. I had no idea why he gained such enjoyment from his marking what was basically a hijacked pagan festival, but I suppose the giving and receiving of items brings out the better side of human nature.

I certainly gave him something to remember when we used that dildo out on a cab ride. The poor driver got quite impatient that it took John nearly five minutes to get out of his vehicle, and Mrs. Singer just rolled her eyes at our ridiculousness and showed us into a spare ground floor room. It would be several hours before John would be able to manage those things called 'the stairs'!

Thankfully the love of my life was in a rather better state that cold January day, and John was feeling better because I had told him that my unlovely brother Bacchus' sufferings were to be prolonged as a whole load of extra letters and stories had turned up demanding his urgent attention (he had tried to share the suffering in a telegram but I only read as far as his mentioning something about the Colossos of Rhodes and sailors before throwing it into the fire), and he deserved all the agonies he was now experiencing, Which reminded me, an extra box of cakes needed to be sent to Miss Charlotta Bradbury for finding all those extra stories.

We were sat reading when one 'Mr. Grover Underwood' sent up his card and asked if he might see us. The name was familiar to me and after some thought I remembered; one of our friend Mr. Edward Bell's acquaintances was a Mr. Underwood, although I could not remember the Christian name of the fellow.

My recollections were proven correct when a smartly-attired young dark-skinned gentleman was announced by the maid.

“My father Philip is a friend of your colleague Mr. Bell”, he said, “and he kindly recommended your services to me. Although I myself think the matter hopeless, Percy insisted I come along as he is too shy to approach you himself.”

I sighed to myself. I really wished people would get themselves better organized before requesting our services and avoid presenting the facts in such a haphazard manner.

“Pray begin at the beginning and we shall see if we can help you”, I said, not failing to notice the slight smile from John that I used 'we' instead of 'I'. I could not have done what I did without him but to far too many people he was merely what I had heard dismissively referred to as ' a sidekick'. The last newspaper so to do had been very firmly corrected with the threat of legal action.

Our young visitor sat himself down and began.

“My friend Mr. Perseus Jackson has been charged with undertaking a quest”, he said. “He has to steal a small gold statue of the Greek god Poseidon by the end of the month in order to be accepted as a member of the Olympian Club.”

The Olympian club was based in Mayfair and, I knew, one of the most exclusive of its ilk. Even Mycroft had been rejected for membership, although I supposed that that showed some good taste on their part; after all his travails in recent times he had been reduced to a single and basic membership of Green's from the six clubs that he had formerly belonged to. Like him my parents had originally purchased top-level memberships at a round half-dizen of them; I had as I have sid before only gone to the trouble of keeping them up (one had to attend occasionally as a matter of course) because my original memberships had been purchased shortly after I had met John and I had every intention even back then of making him part of my life. I had known that many of the snootier clients he would be called upon to minister to would expect to see at least one club membership on his calling-cards, and as my high level of membership would in some cases allow him as an acquaintance to claim associate membership, I had accepted for him and him alone. Frankly I thought most of them a waste of space and some, including the Olympian, I knew to be fronts for various levels of organized crime that was only continued because of the power and infuence of those who sat their overly large posteriors on the comfortable chairs inside.

I looked again at our visitor. There was nothing remarkable about him really, a slender young fellow who was looking earnestly at us both. His suit however bothered me, and not just because dark brown is something that should only ever be purchased for people that one dislikes intensely. The only thing worse than that was the almost candy-striped affair that the normally well-dressed Bacchus had turned up in one time, and which had caused Mrs. Singer to quip that he had looked like a hot-air balloon set loose. The suit had never been seen again, unlike (unfortunately) its owner.

“I take it that it is not as easy as that”, I said. Our guest nodded.

“The Club is, as you are probably aware, extremely tough on who it admits and does not admit”, he said. “Percy told me that it is almost the only place in London which does not allow associates, so only those with full membership are allowed in. And I believe that they actually shot at a newspaper journalist who tried to get in there one time.”

I could relate to that. London journalists _were_ annoying at times, especially when they criticized my beloved friend.

“So they have hidden the statue somewhere on their premises”, I said, “and he has to not only break in but locate the item and find it, but then to make his escape”, I said. “Difficult. Tell me about this statue, please.”

“In fairness they did give Percy a description of it”, our visitor said. “It is about twelve inches high, solid gold and I suppose worth a small fortune. But then those in the club are exceedingly rich.”

“What connection does Mr. Jackson have to the club?” I asked.

“His father is one of the twelve gentlemen who run the place”, the young fellow said. “The Council of Gods if you can believe it; they do not do modesty there! His name is Perseus too but each takes the name of one of the Ancient Greek gods so he naturally is Poseidon.”

“Were not half the Ancient Olympians female?” John asked. Our visitor chuckled.

“That might be one way to get it out”, he grinned. “Mention women in the club and see if everyone dies of a heart-attack. They will not even employ female staff there.”

“Do they have gold statues of the other eleven gods?” I asked.

“I have no idea”, the young fellow said. “I have never been inside the place, and I suspect admitting a gentlemen of my complexion would rank right down there alongside admitting women in Things That Can Never Happen In A Million Years.”

I suspected that he was probably all too right. His suit still bothered me, though.

“So your Mr. Jackson wishes for me to obtain this statue for him?” I asked. “Is he sure that that is within the spirit of the quest?”

“He just needs your help”, our visitor said. “And Percy is not the sort to ask for help; it took hours of badgering before he even agreed to let me approach you. I just sort of hoped that you could fix things so he could do it. Somehow.”

I pressed my fingers together and looked hard at the young fellow.

“So all I have to do is find an item about one foot long that could be hidden anywhere inside a large city house, and then arrange for it to be placed in such a way that your friend can just walk in and take it?”

He blushed at that. I smiled at him.

“On the other hand it is most certainly a challenge”, he said. “Yes, I shall devote some thought to this matter, and if you leave your card I shall contact you as to how you can advise your friend.”

֍

As I have observed in our more recent cases together, John was becoming far too good at reading me of late. Fortunately he waited until our visitor was safely gone until tackling me on the matter.

“There was something wrong with what he said, was there not?” he asked. “Or was it something you thought that he was holding back?”

“I do not think that he said much that was untrue”, I deflected.

He just looked at me.

“So he _did_ say something untrue then!” he said triumphantly. “I shall get it out of you one way or another.”

“I have a better idea”, I smiled. “Let us adjourn to our room and you can try to 'get it out of me' in the best way possible.”

He scowled at me for that.

“You cannot always distract me with sex”, he said firmly.

I undid my top button, looked pointedly at him and licked my lips ever so slightly.

“Damnation, Sherlock!”

֍

I silently thanked the Lord for my inherent flexibility as I squatted over the man I loved and lowered myself onto him once more. John writhed beneath me, a delicious broken mess of a man who had already come twice and was now breathing far too fast. 

Oh well. Exercise keeps you young, they say.

“Getting something out of someone is _fun!_ ” I smirked as I teasingly flicked one of his nipples. He juddered beneath me and moaned in pleasure.

“You are going to kill me through sex one of these days!” he whined.

“But think about the epitaph”, I told him. “Men and women across the Empire would speak your name in awe. Here lies Doctor John Dean Watson, M.D, died through sheer sexual exhaustion.”

“So the way to go”, he said. “But please, not just yet!”

I leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips. 

“This Olympian case has set me thinking”, I said abstractedly. “Perhaps we could attend our next costume party dressed as two characters from Ancient Greece.”

“I suppose”, he managed. “But then again, no. Too many of the characters in those stories met bad ends, usually because of those randy gods.”

“But the clothing was basically a top and a short tunic”, I said. “And I could make you spend the whole evening wearing that with our retractable cock-ring underneath it, so every time that I made you hard I would hear that oh so satisfying little click.”

He looked so horrified by that that I feared I might have overdone it. Although feeling him getting hard for the third time suggested that at least part of him was on board with the idea.

“Maybe”, I said. “Let us get this case sorted first.”

His sigh of relief was palpable – until I began working on his delicious nipples again.

֍

There are many clever men in London Town and some of the worst villains that I have ever come across – I think immediately of the vile Moriarty and his associates – occurred when brains were combined with an absolute lack of morality. Fortunately there were many more clever men who kept to the straight and narrow, and that was just as well – for few had the potential to be as deadly as the innocuous-looking Mr. Barton Richards.

Mr. Richards was a small-time clerk at a warehouse in the docks, something which given his talents was more than a little surprising. Howsoever he enjoyed his job and I had been fortunate enough to be able to assist him once over a small matter of fraud and stolen goods, so we had a passing acquaintance. His particular talent was that of hypnotic suggestion, and the only time he had misused it (or perhaps the only time that he had admitted doing it) was when a particularly unpleasant manager had been appointed to his works and had set about making everyone's life as difficult as possible. Doubtless there were many people who had wished to tell him to go jump in the Thames, but Mr. Richards was actually able to ensure that he did just that. Four times before he was moved elsewhere.

The 'clerk' listened to my explanation of the case and smiled,

“I do hope that you are not involving me in anything illegal, Mr. Holmes”, he said.

“I understand that the terms of the challenge require Mr. Jackson or someone employed by him to remove the statue from the club”, I said. “However he would have to find it first, and I sincerely doubt that it is sitting on a plinth ready to be removed at his convenience. For all its lofty pretensions the Olympian Club is no better or no worse than its rivals; they indulge in the sort of medium-scale criminality that those of their class can get away with. However some new blood in the form of Mr. Jackson may improve matters. We can but hope.”

“What is you wish of me?” he asked

֍


	2. Chapter 2

Mr. Underwood came round that afternoon and asked if we had made any progress.

“Some”, I said. “I think that I shall have something to communicate to you tomorrow morning, or Friday at the latest. Would you be able to bring Mr. Jackson along if I ask you at short notice?”

“Percy would jump at the chance!” the young fellow said fervently.

I was quite sure that he would.

֍

It was perhaps a tad selfish of me to arrange for matters to come to a head an extra twenty-four hours later than necessary, but the idea of John wearing Ancient Greek clothes – I was but mortal man, damnation!

Perhaps I should have sympathized more with those lusty Ancient Greek gods, for Adonis had nothing on the beauty before me. No matter how red he was.

“This is a dress!” he hissed, clearly uncomfortable.

“A nice short one too!” I smiled. “Plenty of room for... operations.”

He shuddered deliciously. I knelt before him and shuffled forward until I was beneath his splayed legs. He was already hard. Good. I took the cock-ring and clipped it quickly into place.

“Aiiiiiieeeee!”

He nearly fell over but fortunately I had had the foresight to grab his legs and I managed to steady him. He shuddered above me.

“What the hell!”

“I sent down to Mrs. Singer for some ice”, I said, deciding to gloss over the knowing smirk that that request had elicited. John would otherwise never have dared to face our landlady again. “I kept the ring in it until now.”

He continued to shudder but gradually calmed down, and his cock was already growing hard again after its shock. I reached up and stroked it, eliciting a pleasured moan from above.

“My own Adonis”, I said. 

“He got gored by a bull!” John gasped. “Bad choice.”

“Hyacinthus?” 

“Struck by a discus and killed. _Not_ an improvement!”

“Narcissus?”

“So dumb that he died of hunger looking at his own reflection. You are doing this deliberately!”

I snickered. It had taken him long enough but then he was distracted. I tickled him lightly under his balls.

He erupted like a volcano, the ring falling onto me as he blew. I was grateful that I had had the foresight to have him standing between two chairs which were the only things keeping him upright just then.

“Sensitive”, I said. “Or perhaps it was a delayed reaction due to the cold. I had better find out which.”

The anticipatory moaning was just wonderful!

֍

Early Friday morning we had a caller who arrived with one rather gaudy gold statue in tow. It may have indeed been worth a small fortune but I would frankly not have given the thing house-room; there was better quality to be found down Petticoat Lane appearance-wise. I thanked the gentleman and immediately dispatched a telegram to Mr. Underwood to ask him and his friend to come.

Half an hour later that gentleman arrived alone.

“Percy sprained his ankle at a dance last night”, he explained, “so he can hardly manage a step the poor sod. Did you get it?”

I smiled and reached down to beside my chair, then lifted up the ugly piece of so-called art. Mr. Underwood beamed.

“How did you manage it?” he asked. “That is, if you can tell me.”

“It was really quite simple”, I said. “As so often in these things, the wording of the challenge was all important. You told me that your friend or one of his agents had to remove the item from the club.”

“Yes?”

“An acquaintance of mine is highly skilled in the art of hypnotic suggestion”, I said. “He most generously agreed to assist me by seeking out one of the servants who worked at the Olympian and implanting a certain idea into his mind. At some point in the small hours of this morning the servant, without being aware of what he was doing, removed the statue, took it outside and placed it in a dustbin.”

Mr. Underwood frowned.

“But surely....” he began, then stopped.

“Surely what?” I asked.

“Nothing”, he said. “It just seems.... too easy.”

“The removal was of course discovered, but I ensured that I had someone waiting outside when the servant came out and he removed the statue to safety”, I said. “He is here now. Would you like to meet him?”

A strange look came over Mr. Underwood's face.

“I suppose”, he said. “We do owe him some thanks.”

I smiled and went across to John's bedroom door which I opened. Standing back I admitted the young gentleman from earlier.

“May I introduce Mr. Grover Underwood.”

Our second visitor's reaction was instinctive. He immediately reached into his jacket pocket and I really wished that there had been some way of recording the look on his face when he pulled out and pointed a child's toy gun at me. The look on his face was a picture!

“And may I mention, _Mr. di Angelo_ , that the drunken sot who bumped into you on your way here today removed your weapon and replaced it with that little bauble”, I said coldly. “I do not take well to gentlemen who try to misuse my talents for their own ends and then try to kill me when their nefarious dealings are exposed.”

John, moving far faster than I had expected, had a set of cuffs on our stunned visitor before he could react. He glared at us all.

“How the blazes did you know?” he snarled.

“Your suit was an early giveaway”, I said. “Your address is one of the better parts of London yet the suit itself is far too cheap to go with it. Suspecting something was amiss I had you followed the first time you left here, and was not totally surprised when instead of going to the address of the real Mr. Underwood you went to your father's house.”

“His father?” John asked.

“His father is Mr. Hades Black, who has himself been trying to gain acceptance at the Olympian Club for many a year”, I said. “He was one of he original founders but when the current Council of Twelve was established his brothers, including Mr. Jackson's father, contrived to exclude him. What the rogue before us did not mention in his description of the challenge facing Mr. Jackson was that the same one had also been extended to him. He sought to use my talents to extract the statue for himself.”

“He still failed!” the trapped man said scornfully. “He did not get it out of the club.”

“As I said, words were important”, I said smoothly. “The challenge defined the club as including its grounds, which in turn includes the dustbins set out the back. Mr. Underwood here did indeed take one step onto those grounds to lift the bin lid and extract his prize, which Mr. Jackson will be here to collect shortly.”

“It was cheating!” Mr. di Angelo protested.

“Sore loser!” John scoffed. 

“You have been watched all this morning”, I told our captive. “I knew that you would have to be outside Mr. Underwood's house to intercept the telegram I sent him, and you duly were. The Olympian Club has already been informed of your and your father's nefarious activities, and I doubt that they will consider making either of you members any time soon.”

There was a second knock at the door and I went across to open it. A young dark-haired fellow who looked not a little unlike a younger version of myself (all right, the hair _was_ that awful!) stood there looking hopefully at us all, then smiled when he saw the statue.

“Mr. Jackson”, I said. “Welcome, and I do hope that you enjoy your time with the Gods of Olympus.”

֍

To answer the one remaining question arising from this case, it apparently was the cold that had made John nearly pass out that time I had tickled him down there. But we both agreed that it was a good thing to make _absolutely_ sure.....

֍


End file.
